


PARIAH

by Wizard_of_Ozzie



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard_of_Ozzie/pseuds/Wizard_of_Ozzie
Summary: This story begins the day Antoinette, an aspiring ballerina-in-training, meets Erik, the main attraction at a carnival freak show.  Story takes inspiration from Frank Lloyd Weber's Phantom of the Opera.





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

 

Paris, France - June 6, 1851

 

Antoinette was only fifteen and she’d never seen a man murdered before, certainly not so near that she could hear the faint wheeze of his final breath. Before that day, she’d always assumed such a sight would repulse her, leave her quaking in cold fear or puking convulsively until all that remained were dry hoarse heaves.  But it hadn’t been that way at all. She hadn’t screamed, ran away, or fell into a dead faint.

 

_No, I didn’t do any of those silly girlish things that the weaker sex, dainty and frail by nature, would be expected to do._ She thought to herself proudly.

 

Instead, she’d sat there calmly watching the spectacle with macabre fascination. And it hadn’t been a pretty sight—the dying man’s crazed eyes bulging from their sockets in terror as he frantically grabbed at the leather cord drawing tighter and tighter around his neck.  His fingernails ripping ragged, bloody gouges in his skin as he desperately tried to get hold of the noose biting into his windpipe, his blood-slicked fingers uselessly swiping at the cord.  His mouth wide and silently screaming in protest, as a dark stain appeared at the crouch of his trousers and spread down the gray fabric, panic emptying his bladder.  His legs madly kicking, desperately, vainly trying to escape his fate. His frenzied movements gradually slowing and eventually ceasing as his body went slack and dangled, supported only by the strap on his throat.  Then there was a dull thud, when his assailant released the cord, and the deceased man’s body fell, in a rumpled heap, to the dirt floor. 

 

After dropping his makeshift noose, the assassin, more boy than man, knelt down and reached between the bars of his cage to snatch a ring of keys from the dead man’s vest.  She saw the young man use the keys to open his cage and step out, she marveled at how erect he stood, how vibrant he looked, nothing like he’d been, when she walked into the tent, barely a half hour ago. 

 

When she’d first seen the boy, she barely thought him human.  He’d been kneeling, hunched over like a small-terrified animal, on the filthy straw floor of the narrow iron-barred pen that confined him. All he wore was a pair of ragged grime-infested trousers with what appeared to be a huge burlap blindfold covering his entire face.   Antoinette recalled how she’d winced, just looking at the latticework of old scars and fresh welts crisscrossing his bony back. She’d felt the heat of angry outrage rising in her chest as she stared at the surly barrel-chested brute hovering over him brandishing a wicked-looking rawhide lash.

 

“Stand up!” The whip-wielding man had commanded, roughly yanking the rail-thin and dirt-encrusted youth to his feet.  “People have paid good money to see you.”  He hissed angrily before turning to the expectant crowd, of thirty-odd folk, huddled outside the cage in the cramped rank-smelling carnival tent.

 

“This wretched beast is the product of Lucifer’s lust, born to a jackal and doomed to burn in Hades for all eternity.” The man announced in a booming theatrical voice.  “Behold, Satan’s son!”  He proclaimed, ripping the blindfold from the boy’s face and thrusting him forward into full view of the awed spectators.  Many in the crowd stepped back cringing at the horror of what the snatched away fabric had lain bare.  Others surged forward cramming themselves against the bars to get a better look and gawk unabashedly at the grotesque visage before them.  The air of the tent was filled with the frightened shrieks and raucous jeers of those that gaped at the pitiful creature.

 

“See his eyes!” Shouted the depraved showman, grabbing a thick thatch of tormented urchin’s matted brown hair and forcing him to face those assembled.  “They burn with the wicked glow of hell’s cruel fires!  Beware, do not stare too long or you, too, will be infected by the evil he harbors within!”  He added ominously, pulling the boy back from the bars with a dramatic flourish.

 

Antoinette looked into the lad’s strange and expressive eyes, large and orange-gold colored, with a beauty that stood out in sharp contrast to his ruinous face. She was stuck with an eerie feeling of deja-vous, but she pushed the discomforting thought away and continued to gaze at him.  As hard as she tried, she saw no evil burning in his amber orbs, instead she saw suffering and sadness so intense that it squeezed her heart and caused tears to spring to her eyes. 

 

She looked to the others, young and old, standing around her taunting and mocking the pathetic soul.  One curly-haired scamp, no more than ten, hocked up a thick wad of phlegm and spat into the cage, hitting the besieged youth squarely in the face, right where the nostril of his nose was supposed to be.  As the noxious spittle rolled down his cheek and off his chin the audience roared with laughter.  His keeper was laughing too, until someone threw a rotten tomato that missed its mark and landed with a noisy splat on the pitchman’s forehead, drawing fresh peals of boisterous laughter from the audience.  Enraged to find himself the butt of ridicule, the ugly brute’s face became as red as the foul tomato that stuck him.

 

“That’s it, show’s over!”  He raged, exiting the cage, locking its door, and shooing the crowd out of the tent.  “Everybody out! Everybody out!”  He roared, paying no heed to the disgruntled protests of several spectators angered that their fun was being cut short.  One man demanded a refund and the showman waved his ham-sized fist threateningly in the dissatisfied customer’s face, shouting obscenities until the man retreated, leaving the tent while muttering angrily under his breath.

 

Antoinette hung back, unobserved by the showman busily hustling the crowd from the tent.  She ran to the cage and pulled frantically at its door, despairing at the thought of leaving the poor boy at the mercy of his barbaric keeper. The door wouldn’t bulge and she looked forlornly at captive youth, the blindfold back on his face. It was then that she noticed the small eye-holes cut in the fabric and realized it was not a blindfold, but a makeshift mask.

 

“Get out of here, you don’t want to be alone in this tent with him!”  The boy whispered in an urgent, yet strangely haunting, voice.  Antoinette turned to see the degenerate showman ushering the last few stragglers from the tent and looked around wildly unsure of how to escape unseen, since the tent had only one exit. “Hurry, hide behind that crate!”  The youth instructed, a note of fear tingeing his words, as he pointed to a crate in a shadowed corner of the tent. 

 

Antoinette quickly slipped behind the wide pine box, just as boy’s jailer lowered the flap on the tent and walked back toward the cage.  He ignored the boy who was now sitting quietly in the corner of the cage, his knees drawn up to his chest.  The man leaned against the outside bars of the cage and pulled a pouch from his pocket, emptying the contents into his hand.  Antoinette, still hidden in the corner, watched the boy silently stand and approach his keeper’s back, his jailer’s whip gripped firmly in his fist.   The man, totally absorbed in the task of counting the coins from the show’s take, noticed nothing until the boy slipped the whip, like a loop, though the bars of the cage and yanked the strap tight around his neck. 

 

Antoinette was surprised by how quickly the half-starved looking adolescent had dispatched the much larger man and stared at the extraordinary young man in amazement.  She continued to watch him as he stooped down and picked up the dead man’s coins from the ground.  He then turned and looked in her direction. 

 

She was about to rise from her hiding place when she heard voices just outside the tent and saw two men walk in, their faces contorted in shock as they saw their dead comrade lying motionless on the dirt floor, next to the filthy iron barred cage.  One man, short with a waspish physique, ran to the corpse not realizing the showman was dead and shook the body, hoping to revive him.  The other broad thickly-muscled man, fully understanding the situation he’d walked into, pointed at the young assailant and shouted.

 

“Murderer! Murderer!  You killed Gunther!”

 

Antoinette acted without thinking, jumping from behind the crate, grabbing the young man’s grubby hand and yanking him with her as she dashed outside the tent.   The two ran off into the night, angry shouting voices at their heels.  Hand-in-hand, they hurriedly zigzagged through the thongs of merrymakers still enjoying the sights and sounds of the carnival, as they strained to widen the distance between them and their pursuers. 

 

Suddenly, Antoinette felt sharp pull at her scalp, as a rough hand seized her dangling braid, snapping her head back painfully and almost causing her to topple backward.  An instant later, a heavily muscled arm swooped over her shoulder and held her neck in a fierce, breath-stealing grip.  Antoinette looked on in dismay as the boy she’d tried to save, dropped her hand and dashed away, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Antoinette attempted to scream, but a weak croak was all her compressed throat could muster.  Her eyes, blurred by tears, frantically scoured the masses around her praying someone would come to her aid.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antoinette prays someone will save her.

Chapter 2

 

A few minutes later, Antoinette found herself lying on the dirt floor, back in the dreary tent where her misadventure had begun.  Standing over her was the hulking gypsy that had hauled her there, a leering smile parting his lips and displaying teeth that appeared to have never felt the bristle of a brush.  He bent forward, a greasy lock of hair falling over his eye, as his disgusting smile widened.

 

“It’s your fault that murderous mooncalf got away.  A freakshow can’t make any money without its main attraction.  So, as I see it, you owe us for the ducats we’ve been denied.”  He said looking down into her frightened face.  “But don’t worry little lady, I know exactly how you can repay your debt.”  He added, grabbing his crouch and displaying its bulge as if he expected her to be impressed by its girth.  His slim weasel-faced cohort, finished with the task of rolling their dead associate into a spare piece of tarp, rushed to his side, excitement shining in his black rat-like eyes. 

 

Antoinette looked up at the two men wondering how the hell was she could possibly get out of this.  She could still hear the clamor of the loud music, boisterous laughter, and child-like squeals of delight from the throngs of carnivals-goers outside the tent and realized screaming would be a waste of time with the near-riotous din going on around them.  Antoinette shot up into a sitting position, drawing up her legs to stand, when she found her upward momentum stopped short by an outstretched palm laid heavily against her chest.

 

“Relax, ma petite fille, lay back and enjoy, for I am about to introduce you to the joys of womanhood.”  The would-be rapist cooed in a feeble attempt at seduction.  Antoinette, more repulsed than seduced, scooted back on her rump, trying to ease out of his reach.  Undeterred, her captor grabbed her ankles and slid her toward him before turning to his comrade.

 

“Sticks, get a hold of her arms.  Our little shrew is in need of taming.”

 

His skinny sidekick was more than willing to comply, running forward to snatch Antoinette’s wrists and pull them back over her head.  He kneeled down forcing Antoinette to lay flat on her back, his knees resting only inches from her head.   He leaned over her and she felt his hot breath on her face, as he licked his thin lips in anticipation. He then looked up at his accomplice, grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

 

“Do you think she’s a virgin? I’ve never had a virgin.  Can I go first?”  Sticks asked, his voice shrill with excitement.

 

“I caught her.  I go first.”  The big man responded brusquely.

 

“Please Boss, I’ll dispose of Gunther’s body for you.  I know just where to take it.  You don’t want the gendarmes snooping around the carnival.  I’ll take care of everything.” He pleaded, discreetly nodding toward Antoinette and silently mouthing the words. _“Her, too.”_

 

“Fine, I’ll let you take her virginity, but I still go first.”  The hulking gypsy replied.  “I’ll just turn her over and plant my seed in her tight little derrière.”

 

_Mme. Duponte told us all to stay together, no wandering off alone.  But did I listen? No, not me, I was too busy being head-strong and contrary!_ Antoinette angrily scolded herself, hot tears running down her cheeks. _Now, look at what I’ve got myself into, they intend to pass me around like a platter at a banquet.  Everybody gets a piece!!_

Antoinette lashed out, her outrage at hearing the men discuss how they’d use her, overwhelming her fear.

 

“How dare you treat me like this!  My father is a powerful man, a close friend of Le Commissaire de Police.”  Antoinette lied, her voice fierce with self-righteous indignation. “Dozens of people saw you dragging me in here, you won’t get away with this!  They’ll hunt you down like dogs, then it’s off to the gallows with the both of you.” 

 

“Boss, do you think she’s telling the truth?”  Sticks asked worriedly.

 

“Don’t be an imbecile, no proper young lady roams a carnival unchaperoned, cavorting with murderous monstrosities.”  The bossman answered impatiently. “Now, help me turn her over.”

 

Antoinette jerked and bucked her body, fighting to free herself, but each man held her limbs firmly and no degree of effort broke their grip.  Instead her struggles caused her skirts to rise above her knees, her crisp white pantaloons slipping into view, drawing lecherous stares from her two attackers, as they plopped her over on her belly.  The brawny brute was breathing heavily as he struggled to remove her knee-length bloomers, the tightly fastened laces at her waist nearly impossible to untie while she was lying on her stomach.  Antoinette’s vigorous twisting and turning adding to the difficulty of the task.

 

“Be still, damn you!”   He demanded, landing a brutal punch to Antoinette’s kidney causing her to cry out in pain.  Sticks, holding Antoinette’s wrists in a vise-like grip, felt her body flinch from the other man’s blow, he then wrinkled his rodent-like nose and looked up questioningly to the larger man.

 

“Boss, do you smell that?  It smells like something’s burning.”

 

The man looked up sharply at his partner, angered at being distracted from the job of removing Antoinette’s drawers.  Then, his eyes traveled to the corner of the tent.

 

“SACRÉ DIEU!”  He shouted in alarm, lifting his hands from Antoinette’s body and pointing to the wall behind Sticks.  “The tent is on fire!”  Both men stared incredulously at the rapidly spreading flames eating away at the tent’s fabric. 

 

Sticks released Antoinette, hurriedly running toward the blaze, removing his jacket, and frantically beating at the flames.  The bigger man also fled from Antoinette’s side and sped into the cage to grab the pail of water inside.  Antoinette immediately seized on her chance at freedom and jumped to her feet, sprinting to the exit flap and bursting from the tent, unnoticed by either of the men busily engaged in bringing the growing conflagration under control.

 

Once outside, she ran like a banshee, tearing through the crowd, ignoring the indignant comments of folk she jostled or shoved aside in her mad dash to freedom.  She continued running, leaving the fairgrounds and crowds behind, heading toward Rue Peletier and the safety of her dormitory in l'Académie Royale de Musique.

 

She had run over half a mile when the adrenaline that fueled her flight began to peter out and her pace slowed.  She stopped a moment, bending over, her hands on her knees, her breathing ragged, as she tried to catch her breath and ease the throbbing ache from the blow to her side that all her running had only served to intensify.  Her eyes widened and she gasped in surprise, when she raised her head to see the thin figure standing next to her on the crowded street.

 


	3. Erik and Antoinette join forces

Chapter 3

Back at the fairgrounds, it was a scene of total pandemonium. Constantino, the carnival boss, was barking out commands left and right, vainly attempting to restore order to the chaos that surrounded him. Not only had he and Sticks failed to put out the fire in the freakshow tent, but burning debris from the flames had traveled on the summer night’s breeze and started half a dozen new blazes. People were running wildly in all directions and rider-less horses were galloping about crashing into concession stands, scattering their once shiny wares across the ground where they were trampled into unrecognizable heaps. The frightened whinnies of the horses rose into the smoke-laden air to mingle with the terrified screams and angry shouts of the panicking crowd.

A small boy, no more than two, sat in the dirt crying for his lost mother, as the multitude of bodies swam by him in their mad rush to outrun the spreading flames and the near choking fumes that accompanied them. A heavyset matron spotted the toddler and stopped short, bending over to pick up the child. But no sooner than her hands reached around his plump body and lifted him to her breast, a rampaging stallion leapt over the pair. As the woman stood up, one of the horse’s rear hooves slammed into the back of her head knocking her senseless and causing her to topple over like a felled oak, landing heavily on the wee babe in her arms. Her sizeable bulk muffled the sound of the child’s cracking breastbone and pain-wracked wails, the little fellow’s struggles lasting only a few moments before he lay still, the last sound he heard, the gentle heartbeat of the unconscious woman, who dreamed of being his savior.

Constantino looked on in horror, as the carnival, it had taken him years to build up from nothing, stood in burning ruins around him. He had found an empty bottle of highly-flammable whale oil lying discarded outside of the freakshow tent and although he had no proof, he knew in his gut exactly who was to blame—that loathsome freak called Erik. He was equally convinced that Erik would not have gotten the better of a man Gunther’s size unless the girl had helped him somehow. She probably used her feminine wiles to distract Gunther, whilst that spawn of Satan slithered up to attack him from behind. He surmised.

That demon and his wicked little red-haired witch are going to pay for this! And I don’t care if I have to tear up this entire city to find them! He fumed, his hatred for the pair lodged like a massive stone in his chest. He stood surveying the destruction around him, when he saw something that he hadn’t expected to see so soon.

It’s her! The red-haired wench! His heart sang out in delight. He knew it was her, even from the back. He recognized her long red braid, the navy jacket, and white flouncing skirt. He saw her disappear behind one of the few tents still standing and he dashed after her, determined not to let her escape again.

As he rounded the tent, Constantino stopped in his tracks, startled to see the object of his pursuit joining a gaggle of nervous schoolgirls all dressed in identical navy and white uniforms. He ran forward, snatching the girl he’d followed by the arm. She turned around, alarm blossoming on her pimply young face. 

OH NO, It’s not her! His mind screamed in dismay. His eyes scanned the group of girls, quickly realizing the one he sought was not among them.

“LET ME GO!” She yelled, getting the attention of her classmates and the tall thin woman, who’d been herding the girls from the grounds. The woman marched over to the pair, confronting the man with all the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cub.

“LET THAT CHILD GO!” She demanded, wrapping her arms around the terrified girl and pulling her away, but the enraged stalker didn’t let go.

“And who the devil are you?” He spat, eyeing the woman with contempt.

“I am Madam Duponte, headmistress at L'Académie Royale de Musique AND IF YOU DON’T UNHAND THAT CHILD THIS INSTANT, I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A PLATE!” She raged, rising up to her full five foot eight inches and glaring directly into the disgusting brute’s face. 

Constantino displayed a toothy urine-yellow grin and released the girl’s arm. Pleased to have received the information he sought, the name of the school where the girl boarded, he did an abrupt about-face and strode away, leaving the schoolgirls behind as they broke into applause and cheered the brave and valiant Mme. Duponte.


	4. Antoinette Escapes

 

Chapter 4     

Antoinette was shocked to find the masked boy, from the freakshow, suddenly standing before her.

_If he followed me here through all the darkened alleyways and throngs of people, perhaps the others have, too._ She asked herself worriedly _._  Her eyes darted around, frantically scanning the street, looking for any sign of the two evil men that had held her captive.  The boy saw the fear in Antoinette’s eyes and assumed that it was directed at him. 

 

_She looks as if she’s trying to decide which way to run.  How best to flee the monster before her!_   He thought, watching her look up and down the street in fear.   He stepped back a few feet, hoping she would not scream or run off in terror.  _But why should she be any different from the others?_   He thought morosely, he looked down at his feet unwilling to face the fear in her eyes.

 

Antoinette believing she had lost her attackers by weaving through a series of narrow, ill-lit, and congested streets; began to settle down a bit, feeling slightly more relaxed.  She then turned to the boy, who appeared as if he were scrutinizing his two feet, with intense interest.

 

“Oh, so now you come back.”  Antoinette said sarcastically, as she glared at him sternly. She looked him up and down, challengingly, her arms folded in front of her, waiting for him to explain his cowardly desertion in her time of need. It was then that she noticed he was as tall as she was and had tight wiry muscles lacing his slim biceps and slender torso.  _He’s not as young as I thought.  He’s probably around my age._   She remarked to herself.  _Even more reason he should have stayed and helped me._

 

“I’m glad you got away.” He told her, an apologetic lilt to his words.

 

“No thanks to you!” Antoinette retorted, suddenly furious, all the anger and degradation she’d felt while held captive in the tent, surging out of her like a tidal wave.  “I can’t believe you ran off and left me with those two thugs!  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THEY WERE PLANNING TO DO TO ME?”  She shrieked with her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing.  He just stared at her, momentarily taken aback by how beautiful her fury made her become, then he realized that she was expecting an answer.

 

“I did what I could.  Did you think that the tent set itself afire?”  He asked her patiently, as if speaking to a small child.

 

“You did that?”  She asked, remembering how quickly the blaze had spread and knowing the answer before he nodded in response.  _I should have known that the fire was no accident._   She thought, irritated by her own naïveté _.  That was very clever of him.  I would never have thought of creating such a perfect means for my escape!_ Antoinette thought, impressed by his nimble mind.  She found herself strangely intrigued by the mysterious young man and the aura of danger and unpredictability that seemed to permeate the air around him.

 

_I always fantasized about finding excitement and adventure._   She inwardly mused.  _But I never dreamt it would come in such an unusual package._

 

“So, I guess that makes you a murderer—and an arsonist.”  She said teasingly, while giving him a lopsided smile.

 

“I hope you do not think too badly of me, I only did what had to be done.”   He told her with mock contriteness, for he saw an impish glimmer in her eyes that said she was more pleased, than repulsed, by his actions.

 

“I hope their whole wretched carnival burns to the ground.”  Antoinette said, with an icy hardness in her voice that one would not have expected from someone that appeared so young and innocent.

 

_You may just get your wish._  He reflected soberly, as he stared, off into the distance, at the orange smoky glow rising ominously above the fairgrounds.  Antoinette turned to follow his gaze, a look of wonderment mingled with smug satisfaction spreading across her face. 

 

“I don’t think it’s wise for us to tarry here too long.”  He stated solemnly, wondering what thoughts lurked behind the odd light in her eyes.  “I need to go and find a place to lie low for a while.  I suspect that it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for me.”  He told her, a weary sadness weighing down his words.  “And you—you should be tucked away in the safety of your bed at this hour.”

 

“Yes, I guess I should be back at the dormitory by now.”  She admitted forlornly, sad to see her adventure coming to a close.

 

“So, I guess this is au revoir, m’amie.”  He said softly, fighting the lump he felt rising in his throat as he turned away, reluctant to leave her, for she had shown him something he could not recall receiving in a very long time—simple human kindness.

 

“Wait, don’t go.”  She pleaded, reaching out and gently touching his arm, as an idea suddenly sprang to her mind.  “I know the perfect hiding place, deep in the belly of the Le Théâtre de l'Académie Royale de Musique.  Come, it’s only a little way from here.  If we hurry, we can get there before anyone finds you.”  She cajoled, tentatively taking his hand.  She smiled brightly when his hand closed around hers, but his mask prevented her from seeing the joy that lit his face, like the sun emerging from behind a dark cloud.

 

 


End file.
